


October 19th 1781

by IggyBlob



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Feels, Hetalia, History, The Battel of Yorktown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7602373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IggyBlob/pseuds/IggyBlob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been five years and Alfred still blames himself... Even if it was his fault, he didn't know at the time... Character death. Lot's of feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	October 19th 1781

He became who he is today at the age of nineteen, on an overcast day in October. October 19th 1781.   
It has been five years since that dreadful day. It was his fault. The innocent teen couldn’t cope with the guilt any longer… It has been five years since the day he killed his own older brother. Alfred dragged himself across the room. Grabbing his timeworn guitar, which Arthur had given him when he was a child; he swung the instrument over his shoulder and strolled out the door half asleep. Letting his feet guide him where they want to, on this awful day.  
Alfred looked up at the gloomy sky; “It’s like this every October 18th” said a deep voice that stood next to him. However Alfred didn’t look toward the stranger he just hummed as carried on walking. He walked past that field, the memories of red and blue coats colliding, dropping, and crying together. Alfred hung his head in shame. He thought they won the war, they were finally free, so shouldn’t he be happy?   
He suddenly stopped in the middle of the field, placing his guitar down while he knelt. He exhaled the breath he didn’t know he was holding, brushing the overgrown grass off a plaque that read ‘Arthur Kirkland 1757-1781. Brother to Alfred Kirkland.’ He closed his eyes remembering, like every year…  
October 19th 1781 the day Alfred could never forget. He raised his gun towards a red coat that was running towards one of the men next to him. He steadily aimed at the man; he felt his hand begin to sweat making it impossible for him to grip the musket firmly, he didn’t understand he had shot many British soldiers before. He looked up to the horror around him, taking a deep breath and he squeezed the trigger. He looked back up after the powerful blow, watching as the world around him slowed down. He watched the bullet enter the British man’s side.   
However the British man slowed down before the shot, he wasn’t trying to kill the man next to him. He wanted Alfred to shoot him in defence? He has always wondered why the red coat did that. Why Arthur ran towards him with his head down to only look up at the sound of the gun. Once the bullet hit him, Arthur smiled while he fell to the ground. Without realising Alfred shot his brother.   
Alfred shook his head in anger. “Why Arthur? You stupid idiot why did you do it.” He cried, hitting the grass, “I would give up my freedom to just have you back.” He says softly rubbing his hand against the name engraved onto the plaque. He stood up slowly picking his guitar up swinging it over his shoulder again. He carried on walking again, this time with tears falling down his face. He walked and walked and walked. He no longer had any family after his twin moved up to Canada after the revolution.   
He stopped in front of an old house, that young teens normally visit because the think it’s haunted by the ghost of the man who died in the revolution. It was a long-standing stone house at the far side of the field away from the rest of society. As a child Alfred loved it here with his older brother. The place used to have the brightest of atmospheres. Now it does look like it is haunted. The windows have been smashed the walls full of graffiti. Alfred stepped inside the door smiling as it still smelt like home.   
He walked up the creaky stairs, taking everything the house had to offer at once. He began to cry again once he reached Arthurs room. Everything still in place, it was the only room in the house that Alfred takes care of. He brushed some of the glass off the bed and sat down, placing his guitar next to him. He looked over to the wall that still had his child hand print on with Arthurs next to his. He listened to the wind as it came through the window, then he looked at his guitar smiling when he remembered the song Arthur use to play with him.  
Alfred gently unzipped his guitar and sat in a comfortable position he started to play the notes to Pachelbel’s Canon in D minor. He smiled looking out the window, after the first beat he heard a faint violin though the house in tune to his guitar. He started to cry but carried on playing, it was the only sound left of his once amazing, caring and loving brother. Alfred never thought music would mean so much to him as it does now…   
“I love you Arthur…”  
Alfred loves the nights of 19th of October because Arthur always comes alive again and sits next to him on the bed playing while looking out at the peaceful scenery outside. Until the song ends…


End file.
